Dog Days
by Nerdturd
Summary: Helga returns to Hillwood after five years in South Dakota in the last oppressive burst of summer heat. With all the changes, past tensions and too many things unsaid, there's always the hanging question of whether or not she has reasons to stay.
1. Home is hardly a word

**Dog Days**

a Hey Arnold! Fanfiction

by

KG

_Home is hardly a word..._

Main Street glimmered through the haze, a sweltering mirage in the ninety-degree heat. The evening wind was humid and sticky. Streetlights swam and flickered, letting out a luminous and uncomfortable radiance. Sidewalks bustled thickly with the night time crowd. People, mostly made up of university students, had flocked out from their dorms and apartments to draped themselves on the cool metal chairs of bar patios, conversing loudly over cheap beer and bowls of complimentary peanuts. Up and down the street, shops showed no signs of closing, despite the clock tower downtown striking twelve.

Helga Pataki stubbed out her cigarette against a concrete wall. She had walked the excruciating uphill walk from the central bus station to her old neighbourhood. A lot has changed, that was a given. For instance, there were more coffee shops that lit the streetcorners, more chain restaurant diners posing as mom-and-pop establishments. She was surprised at how little it actually affected her. But then again, few things do.

So it also surprised her how she felt a hot, uncomfortable swoop when she saw that Slaussen's Ice Cream Shop was still there. Only that it was now called Slaussen's Bar and Grill, with tinted brown windows and what Helga could only surmise from across the street, ambient lighting and classy seating. She suppressed a smirk, wondering if old Mr. Slaussen, who hated interior decorations of any sort but his own, had been prevailed upon to make renovations.

_I wonder if they still serve ice cream_, Helga thought. She swung the door open to a blast of air-conditioned air and a crowd cheering a basketball game on a huge widescreen television.

Helga was about to retreat to the humid outdoors when her eyes were immediately drawn to the island bar at the centre of the room. The glimmering tower of liquor bottles and glasses beckoned to her. She hadn't had a drink since she left South Dakota. She shuffled to the bar and perched herself on a red upholstered stool, catching her reflection on the shiny counter, amazed to see how tired-looking she was.

"And what will you have?" A smooth, low voice snapped her out of her reverie. She looked up and felt another hot, uncomfortable swoop dive into her stomach.

"Holy shitting crap."

"Uh, we don't serve that here," The man behind the counter smirked. Helga bit her lip.

"Hah. Sorry. Hey, Football Head."

Arnold grinned. "Fancy seeing you around here."

Helga shifted in her seat. "I know, isn't this super awkward?"

"Not really." He was still smiling. "You look great."

"Psh. Whatever. Just gimme a goddamn gin and tonic."

Arnold poured her a glass with a flourish and set the drink down before her. Helga tried to focus on the glass, its sparkly prisms of ice, the fresh smell of lime. Her throat welcomed her first sip. She sighed.

"That's better."

"So," Arnold began, pouring himself a gin and tonic.

"So what? You want to know why I'm here in Hillwood, of all places?" Helga took another healthy sip, racking her brain for the excuses she made up on the bus, which now seemed to fade away from her grasp.

"I'm curious. But I can tell you don't want to talk about it right now." Arnold downed his drink in three gulps. "But it is weird to see you again. It's been what, five years?"

"I know. I'm actually shocked at how calm we are about this. Hit me with another one, why don't you."

Arnold mixed another drink and set it down in front of her. "Hey look, my shift ends at one-thirty. Want to come over to my place?"

Helga scoffed. "What, so we can catch up? No, thanks."

Arnold's smile remained unperturbed. "Come on. Where are you staying anyway?"

"Nowhere."

"Is that for real, or you just don't want to tell me?" Arnold shrugged, beginning to wipe glasses.

Helga wondered at her irritation. Five years have come and gone, years that seemed like aeons, but she still couldn't talk to Arnold without being combative. _Way to be mature, Helga_, she thought.

"Okay, I'm sorry. I'm tired. The truth is, I just arrived. I have no idea where to spend the night, apart from my old fire escape."

"Big Bob has no idea you're here, huh?"

"Nope."

Arnold got out his phone. "You know what? We have a spare room at the boarding house at the moment. You could stay there a few nights until you find a place."

"I couldn't."

"It's better than Big Bob finding you on your fire escape."

Helga sighed. There was no way she could risk being found out. And a warm bed sounded horribly appealing right about now.

"Okay, fine. Thank you."

Arnold dialled, and put the phone near his ear. "Let me call Grandma. Meanwhile, is there anything you want to eat?" he asked, pointing at the menu overhead.

"Do you have free peanut bowls?"

* * *

><p>At two o'clock in the morning, Main Street patios have lost most of their customers to 24-hour diners serving refillable coffee, where the fluorescent lights were sterile and glaring, where hangovers didn't seem to last. Arnold and Helga walked past one particularly bright and full of drunk hipsters draped on the booths.<p>

"There goes the neighbourhood," Helga quipped, rolling her eyes, taking another drag of her cigarette.

Arnold smiled. "Since when did you start smoking?"

"Since when did you care?" Helga snapped, blew her smoke away from Arnold. "Sorry. That just came out. Uh, some time ago in South Dakota. Maybe two years. Who cares."

"I guess despite that, you're still the same."

"Maybe. Maybe not. What about you, Arnoldo? Still the freaking golden boy?"

Arnold frowned. "I'm not quite sure what you mean."

"Sorry. Forget it." Helga threw her cigarette on the floor, stamped on the embers. "Here you are paying for my drinks and offering me a place to stay and I act like a lousy ass."

"You're just tired."

"Yes. And you're just too soft." Helga smiled. "But thanks, really."

They walked up the block in silence to Sunset Arms. Seeing the old building still looking the same as it was made Helga feel more at ease. She was expecting complicated, nostalgic emotions to rise up, but so far, nothing.

"Wow. It still looks the same."

"There's been a lot of work done on it. Though it doesn't look like it from here."

"Are there a lot of college kids living here now?"

"Not really. Grandma's become surprisingly picky about who gets to rent here since Grandpa died."

"Oh, crap. I'm so sorry, Arnold."

"It's okay."Arnold put his keys to the lock and threw the door open. Helga was disappointed to see that no cats and dogs came rushing out. They stepped into the dark hallway lit by a single pin light.

"Careful now," Arnold said absently as they climbed the stairs to the second floor. In the dark, Helga could see the faint outlines of new floral wallpaper adorning the halls, its quaintness contrasting a pair of sleek black cordless phones charged on their racks at each end of the corridor. Arnold opened the door to what used to be Suzie and Mr. Kokoshka's room.

"Here you go," he said, stepping into a room with drab olive paint. An old Japanese paper divider shielded the twin bed from the kitchenette. A tall lamp next to the bed had water stains on the shade. And there was dust everywhere. The smell of it clung to the walls, permeated the air. Arnold plugged the lamp in, switched it on. In the poor lighting, Helga could see the lines on his face, how tired he looked, for the first time.

"Sorry it's not much. We threw out all of Mr. Kokoschka's stuff when he moved out. It smelled like rancid beans."

Helga set down her backpack on the bed and sat down. The springs groaned. "This is great, really. Anything that isn't my fire escape is. If there's anything I could do to pay you back, you know, run it by me."

Arnold wiped a finger on the dusty wall.

"I don't know, how about a hug?"

His eyes searched and locked on Helga's gaze. Helga could feel his gaze making her tired grin drop. She managed to hitch up a smirk.

"Well, why not?" She said, standing up, feeling her heart jumping, beating hard in her chest. How silly that she would be so nervous. Arnold lifted his arms slightly and she could see how uncertain he was of her. Helga solemnly pressed herself against him, surprised how cold his body was.

"We need to catch up." Arnold said in that sweet, low voice that Helga had been steeling herself against. _What the fuck_, Arnold, she thought, _I don't need this right now_. She slid out of his arms and sighed.

"I'm tired, Arnold. Let's talk more tomorrow." Helga tried to avoid his sad-eyed gaze as she removed her worn sneakers, removed her socks. "But thanks again, I really appreciate this."

"Sure. Good night." Arnold said, closing the door behind him. As soon it closed, Helga tiptoed to the door and pressed her ear against it. She could hear footsteps, some keys rattling, squeaking, then silence. For a long time Helga listened to the sounds of the boarding house. Then she climbed into bed, pulled the dusty sheets over her, and slept.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Notes and Disclaimer:<em>

Wow. I am so rusty at fanfictioning. Hello everyone.

I don't own Hey! Arnold. It belongs to Craig Bartlett and Nickolodeon.


	2. Proud and strange and hopelessly hopeful

**Dog Days**

a Hey Arnold! fanfiction

by KG (a.k.a. Nerdturd)

**Chapter Two**

_Proud and strange and hopelessly hopeful…_

Helga woke up the next morning to the sound of a blender on high speed whirring somewhere below. A cacophony of birds and city noises, that orchestra of motors and people, the beeps and hammerings, the perpetual sound of the TV and the radio filling in, the noises she didn't know she missed.

_Right, I'm in Sunset Arms_, Helga thought. _I am in an empty dusty room in Arnold's house with four hundred dollars and seven pairs of underwear in my bag. What to do._

_Breakfast_, her growling stomach gurgled. _Right, I all I had was those peanuts. And gin. What a combo. _

Helga groaned and swung herself out of bed. She was so exhausted that she just dropped all her clothes on the dusty hardwood floor. She picked up her pants and brushed the dust off her flannel shirt. I don't even have a fucking toothbrush on me, she sighed. Once convinced that she was relatively presentable and dust-free, she grabbed her backpack and peered into the hallway. It was empty.

_I guess I have to go find Arnold and be on my way. Probably thank his grandma too, she _thought. _But Jesus, the awkward shit last night._

Tiptoeing downstairs, she managed to encounter nobody until she reached the kitchen. Peering in the dining room, she felt a pang when saw Arnold sitting on the counter, his back to her. Grandma Gertie hobbled energetically and grabbed a giant stack of pancakes to set down on the table.

"Eleanor, is that you?" She hollered, forcing Helga to come out into the kitchen, grinning sheepishly.

"Sorry, ma'm. I just want to thank you and Arnold for letting me stay in your spare room last night."

"What did you say? Sit down and have breakfast, dear," she said briskly, setting a place and a glass of orange juice and a coffee mug next to the empty spot next to Arnold.

"Oh, Eleanor, It's so nice of you to finally come by to visit," Grandma Gertie sighed. "Between Skippy and ol' Benny, there just isn't enough good company around."

"Benny?" Helga looked at Arnold. Arnold shrugged.

"Uh, actually, I'm—"

"You must be hungry. Arnold here told me all you had last night were a bowl of peanuts. Peanuts! Were they the salted kind?"

"Um, they were." Helga glanced at Arnold, who smirked at her, forking more pancakes into his mouth. He was unreadable. She perched herself on the counter stool.

"Eleanor dear, did I tell you I love what you did to your hair?"

"Oh, this." Helga fingered her hair. She had cut it in front of the stained barnyard mirror before she left her grandfather's ranch with a pair of kitchen shears. It was cut short and uneven underneath her ears. With her thick eyebrows it made her look like a scrawny farm hand. But there was no time to fix it up.

"Yeah, it suits you," Arnold spoke at last, downing a glassful of juice and pouring another, winking at her. Helga rolled her eyes.

"Gee, thanks, Football Head. I think I'm going to grow it out now."

Grandma Gertie piled a dozen pancakes on Helga's plate. "Eat up, dear! Then I'd like you to help me clean your room. Lard knows what shenanigans the dust bunnies have been up to in there."

"Actually, I don't think I would be staying here. I don't want to trespass on your hospitality," Helga blurted out, feeling her cheeks grow hot.

"Trespass? Hospitality? What are you talking about, dearie?" Grandma Gertie's clear green eyes, very much like Arnold's, looked kindly at her, transparent and cheerful.

"I… I don't think it would be a good idea for me to stay," Helga stammered, looking down at her pancakes swimming in syrup.

"Why?"

_Because_, Helga thought, _Because being in your house is such a trigger fest. All the old memories lurked around the corner like ghosts. I still know every nook and cranny in this building, I know how to get to the attic through your broom closet. I know all the escape routes. And Arnold. Don't get me started about your grandson. He—_

Grandma Gertie smiled at Helga's furrowed expression. "Well, Eleanor, while you're still thinking about your reasons, why not help Skippy here wake up ol' Benny? He can have the rest of your drowning pancakes."

Helga found herself standing up and brushing crumbs off her shirt. "R-right. Come on, Arnold." Arnold stood up and followed Helga into the hallway.

"So who the hell is Benny?" Helga asked as they ascended the stairs.

Arnold smiled. "You'll see."

Helga rolled her eyes. "Tsch."

They climbed the stairs to Arnold's room. "I get it. Benny is a dog."

"I don't think he'll take that well," Arnold knocked thrice on the door. A groan came from within.

"Yo. Wake up."

The door opened. A tall, pale man wearing only a pair of blue and yellow banana-print boxers appeared, rubbing his eyes. His dyed blue hair stuck out in a way that struck Helga as uncannily familiar.

"Good morning," the man yawned. His sleepy gaze turned on Helga. He blinked.

"Jesus on a jetpack," he gasped, rubbing his eyes theatrically. "It couldn't be!"

Helga's eyes widened as realization hit. That deep voice.

"Brainy?"

"Holy shit!"

"Holy fuck!"

"Holy ham and egg omelette!"

Brainy's eyes were glued to Helga. He was decidedly awake now. Helga smiled inwardly at how eager he was. _If he had a tail, he'd totally be wagging it._ And she was surprised that she was happy to see him.

"Jesus, girl, you look fantastic," Brainy said hoarsely. Helga blushed. "Nice hair."

"Shut up. You er, don't look so bad yourself," Helga couldn't stop smiling. "Nice boxers."

"Thanks, I found them on the street," he said, gesturing into Arnold's room. "Come in, guys. What a morning."

"Helga thought you were a dog," Arnold laughed, as he closed the door behind him.

"Wait, isn't this Arnold's room?" Helga frowned. "Does that mean you two are gay for each other now?"

Arnold and Brainy looked at each other and burst out laughing.

"You wish," Brainy grinned. Arnold had his hands on his stomach, doubled over and shaking.

"Arnold isn't really my type," Brainy said, wiggling his eyebrows up and down suggestively that Helga had to laugh. "I mean, despite me being a total gay manwhore. I don't go for sticks in the mud like ol' Arnoldo here."

"Wait, what?"

"I, Brian Benjamin Bartlett, am a total gay manwhore?"

Helga burst out laughing. "Oh, God."

Arnold wiped his eyes. "Three years ago, Brainy here had a realization—"

"There was this magical rainbow beam of light that shone upon me one winter day when I was walking home. Choirs of gay angels in matching gold, silver, and bronze mermaid gowns sang Cher songs gloriously in heavenly magnificence. And thus was revealed to me by the Holy Queen that I was a fiery, flaming faggot, forever and ever, a gay man."

"Wow," Helga couldn't resist laughing again. "That's amazing, Brainy."

"It is, if I do say so myself," Brainy winked at Helga. "But of course, after that wondrous epiphany, a lot of shit went down. My parents kicked me out when I came out of the closet. I turned to our favourite sucker here—" winking at Arnold—"and asked if I could stay at Sunset Arms. Or should I say, Sunshine Arms," he said, batting his eyelashes.

"So he gave you his room? Woah, Arnold."

"He did, actually."

Arnold smiled. "Because he saved the building from deterioration and building inspectors. He actually does all the repairs. Grandma and I would've been lost without him, what with Grandpa dying and all, we are lucky to have him around."

"Shucks," Brainy blushed and smiled. "Long story short, we are all eternally grateful to each other in this house. It was especially hard for Arnold to give up his remote control couch, but—"

"Not really," Arnold piped in. "You needed a bigger room for your art. I needed a kitchenette."

Helga looked around the room for the first time. The banana wallpaper was still there, but most of it was covered in art posters. Roy Lichtenstein. Andy Warhol. Otto Dix. Shelves have been added and filled with art books and silkscreen frames. On the floor was a giant mechanism shaped much like a miniature turbine, with clusters of LED lights.

"I've been working on this for four months now," Brainy explained when he saw Helga looking at it. "I haven't a title yet, but let me tell you that despite the hundreds of multi-coloured LEDs I used, I don't want the word 'rainbow' in it. I mean I like the word and all, but."

"I know what you mean," Helga felt something in her rise, a feeling of identification, as if she was getting to know Brainy for the first time. She had always been casual friends with Brainy through out high school, but even then she never really got to know him apart from the shy, silent boy who frequently volunteered to paint sets and play extra in their Drama classes. It was amazing to discover him now, being his full eccentric self, but still retaining some of the things that she knew about him, his easy-going attitude, his welcoming companionship. She cast her mind over the way she treated him in grade school, and felt her stomach curdle in regret and shame. _And I was so mean to him. I really am a lousy ass._

"The pancakes are getting cold," Arnold said, rising up from his old couch. Helga looked up and met his eyes, which still told her nothing when they looked back at her. Brainy was fishing in his hamper for his pants.

"I'll meet you guys downstairs," Arnold said, and disappeared out the door.

Brainy listened until Arnold was out of earshot. His expression changed, a fine crease formed in his forehead.

"So, Helga. How long will you be staying with us?"

"Huh? Oh, I don't know. Maybe a few more days."

Brainy pondered for a moment, then looked at Helga squarely in the eye.

"Does Arnold seems strange to you?"

Helga felt a jolt at the seriousness of his voice. "N-not exactly. He seems fine to me. A bit unreadable. But he asked me for a hug last night. Said we should catch up."

Brainy exhaled a sigh. He smiled at Helga, a cheerful, open smile that made Helga feel welcome and worried at the same time.

"I'm relieved that you're back, Helga. There's so much that happened when you were gone. We definitely need to catch up," he said, pulling on a shirt. It was yellow and had his face silkscreened on it.

"The pancakes are getting cold," he said, clattering down the stairs.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Notes and Disclaimer:<em>

It seems that I gave Brainy a "real name". I had so much fun writing this chapter, you don't know. Hello readers.

I don't own Hey! Arnold. It belongs to Craig Bartlett and Nickolodeon.


	3. But words are like knives

**Dog Days**

a Hey Arnold! fanfiction

by KG (a.k.a. Nerdturd)

**Chapter Three**

_But words are like knives..._

Dust. There was dust everywhere. Filaments floating visibly where light filtered in. On the window sills, caking the counters and the floor. The unmade bed had a thin layer coating the sheets. In the corners, dust built up against old cobwebs and formed grey tents, a testament to time, to dust itself.

And somehow in the middle of it all, Helga decided to stay. Despite the silence.

The silence at her grandfather's ranch— at the wide expanse of fields and dry patches of untilled land, the blue sky, that endless stretch— had been palpable. There was a certain silence in the country despite the constant whinnying of horses, the clomping of animal feet, the crazed chirping and twittering of birds in early mornings. It was a silence bereft of complications, it was the silence of a simple life. It wasn't anything like the silence she had come to know as a child, growing up in the inner-city suburbs, a silence that seemed permeated with secrets, always muffled behind closed doors, a silence longing to be broken. If there was anything Helga missed from South Dakota, it was the silence of the country, the sound of the wind. She had forgotten how different the silence was in cities, in Hillwood, where she was. In the empty room at Sunset Arms, her heart constricted at the silence of Arnold's breathing, the scraping of brooms, the generator hums.

Brainy had excused himself immediately after washing the breakfast dishes, proclaiming that he had to pick up what he called "a few trifles here and there", and went sailing out the door. Grandma Gertie had started to rally up the cleaning supplies in the broom closet and was about to ascend the rickety stairs when Arnold and Helga stopped her, insisting that she go rest while they clean out the room. After much persuading, she obliged, but not before she made Helga call her 'Gigi', and made her promise not to make friends with dust bunnies. The way the lurked in the corners, Gigi said, there's something just not right about them.

They have been cleaning for the last half-hour, neither one daring to talk except for the occasional request for a rag or the stepladder. It was a vaguely uncomfortable silence. Had they been doing nothing, the best solution was to walk away and get out of the room. But the room was caked with dust and they were sweeping, sweeping. The windows were open to let in the hot air, the perpetual urban hum, the sound of children's laughter in a nearby community playground.

When his back was turned, Helga would stop sweeping and turn her gaze on Arnold. His body had developed a certain gauntness. There were slight hollows underneath his eyes and cheeks. The faint tiredness, the exhaustion bent his spine that when he stood against the light his silhouette was twig-like and breakable. His blonde hair that used to obstinately stick up now hung in long strands, drooping over his eyes.

Arnold's eyes. The eyes that pointedly avoided her gaze, that bright green that she sometimes still sees in deep sleep dreams that she would forget in the morning, had a look of clouded hurt in them. Helga wondered what happened in the five years she was gone, while she was away learning distinctions between silences. But she couldn't begin to ask.

She thought about their meeting at Slaussen's. How little was said, how surface everything was, how calm. After the initial shock of seeing each other, there was nothing but the pervading discomfort that hung over them, trailing off whatever conversation that should have been there. Helga cleared her throat.

"So, Arnold. What have you been up to these days?"

Arnold looked up, wiped hair and sweat away from his face. "Oh, the usual. Trying to pay student loans and whatnot."

"Same old, huh." Silence.

"You know what? I never knew what you took in college."

Arnold didn't answer.

"Although I do remember you talking back in senior year about taking history. Anthropology. Some obscure science."

"I took Psychology, actually."

"Why do I feel like that suits you?"

Arnold shrugged.

"Don't know about that. I dropped out after my second year."

Helga stopped wiping the walls.

"What? Why?"

Arnold sighed and leaned the broom against the window sill. Still not looking at Helga. "Boredom, I guess. Have you seen a Psychology textbook?"

Helga smirked. "Not exactly book club material, I know."

"And," Arnold continued, leaning out the window, squinting at the noon sun outside. "Psychology made me less interested in people. All those terms. Disorders. I remember sitting in my last lecture thinking, so fucking what. I walked out before it was finished."

Helga set down her rag and moved closer to the window sill. Arnold felt her shifting, then retreated, moved away. This gesture caused a pang of hurt in Helga. It alarmed her to feel it, but she didn't say anything.

"So then," Helga paused, hesitant.

"I dropped out and just focused on getting my loans paid. Mr. Slaussen got me working the bar five nights a week."

"So you do your consultations behind the bar instead of the therapist's couch, huh?"

Arnold chuckled. "You can put it that way."

"God, I bet you try getting laid using the smooth, sympathetic bartender shtick." Helga rolled her eyes.

Arnold looked at Helga, smirking. "Hey, whatever works."

"Aha." Helga straightened. "So it is actually a shtick."

"Oh, come on." Arnold muttered. "How about you? Driving all the country boys mad with your secretive, complicated mystery girl act?"

"Hey, fuck you."

"No thanks. I've had enough of complicated mysteries."

They stared at each other.

"Well." Turning her back on him, Helga dropped her dusty rag on a nearby bucket of dirty water, making a heavy splash spill on the hardwood floor. "I'm glad that's settled. It makes things less complicated now."

"Meaning?"

"For fuck's sake, you tried your schtick on me last night. Again. What's with all that 'let's catch up' crap? We're not nineteen anymore."

"Why are picking a fight about this, Helga? I wasn't. You brought this up the first place. And for the record, I really wanted to know what you were up to, how you were doing. All that crap. And all you think about is that one time."

"Really."

"Whatever. Think whatever you want, Helga. I don't give a shit." Arnold looked away.

"It was just sex." Helga said in a cold, dismissive voice. It cut through Arnold in a way he didn't think was possible to happen again.

"Right, Helga. It was definitely just sex." Arnold said, willing his voice to be even. Picking up his broom, he gripped the plastic handle hard that it began to creak. "So stop bringing it up."

"I won't—" Helga said calmly. "now."

"Well. We're almost done," Arnold said quietly, shouldering his broom. "I have to go somewhere. If you don't mind finishing up. Brainy should be back soon."

"Sure." Helga felt a tiny pang when she felt Arnold brush past her.

"I'm sorry," she said to Arnold, who was about to open the door. "It's just that— maybe we should talk sometime. For real. Catch up."

"Just talk. Yeah, we should," Arnold replied, closing the door without looking back.

Helga stared at the door, then at the cracks in the yellowed ceiling. Blinking fast, trying to see through the sudden blur that stung her eyes. Running to the window, she lit a cigarette, took a deep, long drag. She exhaled, watched the dark spot of water trickle and expand on the floor. The silence still a city silence. Helga felt it press against her heart. It was a silence she would have to get used to again.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Notes and Disclaimer:<em>

Tension. It's a challenge to write, to keep it tight. That sort of rhymed. Hello, readers.

I don't own Hey Arnold. It belongs to Craig Bartlett and Nickolodeon.


	4. You haven't caught on yet

**Dog Days**  
>a Hey Arnold! fanfiction<p>

by KG (A.K.A. Nerdturd)

**Chapter Four**

_It's a surprise you haven't caught on yet..._

"Special delivery!" Brainy hollered up the stairwell. Helga peered down.

"Help me out here, girl!" Brainy was carrying a garbage bag bulging at the seams. "If you please, I mean."

Helga took the sack fom him. "What's in these, clothes?"

"All manner of apparel imaginable and more! Tuesday is Booty Day, if you know what I mean."

"No, what?"

"It means," said Brainy, lugging up two more bags up the stairs, "that sidewalks are laden with the largesse of citizens and college kids. Yarrr!"

"So you collect the recycling."

"Recycling? Talk about riches! I once found a red velvet corset with silk brocade trim in one of these bags, you know." Brainy began tearing into the bags, spilling all the items in the hallway. There were clothes, bed linens, picture frames, faded curtains, old toys and books. In one bag, Helga found a kitschy yellow cutout bowl that resembled half a pear.

"This is the perfect ashtray."

"By all means, help yourself. Take whatever you like. There's many more where that came from," Brainy said, unfolding an expanse of peach curtains.

"I could use a change of clothes. I didn't think of bringing anything but a bunch of underwear."

"No room for anything but skivvies in your runaway bag?"

"You could say that."

Brainy's eyebrows furrowed together momentarily.

"Hm. Here," He passed over a faded pink summer dress with thin straps and a tiny bow in the middle. "So you, don't you think?"

Helga looked at the dress, at Brainy holding it out, his half-smile. She took the pink dress ran a hand over it, remembering her old one, how she went on wearing it until it was too small, until the seams unraveled and the edges frayed and the cloth grew so soft in her hands. She had put it in a cardboard box when she went off to South Dakota, where she left it to the mercy of moths in the attic storage.

"No way," she laughed, trying to quash the sudden welling of sadness building up her throat. "I haven't worn anything pink in like, ages."

"Well. I think it would look fantastic on you." Brainy shrugged. "But there's plenty of other things here. Feel free."

She held the pink dress against her body. It seemed that it would fit.

"Oh my god, I almost forgot," Brainy said. "Somebody wants to see you."

Helga raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Now, now. I'm not going to spoil the surprise," Brainy said, gathering all the items and stuffing them back into the bags. "We'll sort through this later. Oh my god, I can't believe I almost forgot about it!"

"What?" Helga said impatiently. Brainy just grinned.

"You'll see," Brainy whipped out his phone and began texting furiously. Helga watched him giggled softly at the screen.

"Who is it? One of the gang, obviously."

"Yes, but I'm not going to play guessing games. All I'm saying is, I'm dragging you to lunch with said person. No buts. Where's Arnold?"

Helga looked down at the dress in her arms. She folded it and returned it to the bag.

"He didn't say."

"That boy," Brainy sighed, shook his head and lifted himself off the floor. Helga took his outstretched hand and stood up.

"How is he, Brainy? For real."

"He's..." Brainy began.

"What?"

"Oh, come on." Brainy said, descending down the stairs. "As if it isn't already obvious that he's a complete and utter mess."

"But why?" Helga asked, pushing her feet into her sneakers.

"Honestly, darling, why ask me?" Brainy opened the door and stepped into the bright and heat outside. "You of all people should know."

* * *

><p>Helga and Brainy walked in silence for blocks.<p>

I of all people should know, Helga thought, looking absently into shopwindows, catching her reflection in the glass, at Brainy's profile striding beside her.

Of course. Arnold and I broke the shit out of each other. To put it simply.

Memories came back in fragments: Arnold's hand on her thigh, those rare night skies when they could still glimpse stars, his kiss that tasted of cold apples and rum, the long red drags of her fingernails on his back. Old pangs of rage. But also: the terrible empty mornings during those empty years, looking at drenched and beaten cornfields that only reminded her of his bedraggled hair.

"Here we are," Brainy said, as they turned into a quiet street. They stopped at a storefront with nude headless dress forms on the window display. The doorway bell clinked when they stepped in.

"Ciao, Brian." A dark-haired woman emerged from behind a beaded curtain.

"I brought the goods. As promised."

"Oh, good lord. Helga Pataki in the flesh."

"Hey, Rhonda. Nice place you got," Helga swept her eyes over the mountains of clothes, shoes and textiles littering the floor. "You live here now?"

"Always so charming. This is my store." Rhonda stepped over the spillage to give Helga a one-armed hug. "God, you're a sight."

"Yeah, yeah. What exactly are you running? A clothes cartel?"

"You could say that," Rhonda pulled sack of shoes to the side to make more room on the floor. "I'm curating a vintage boutique."

"So you're foisting your old clothes to hapless, unfashionable citizens?"

"See, your sour perspective is what I miss most about you." Rhonda smiled serenely. "What made you leave SD? Cows not good enough company for you?"

"Rhonda, these are divine," Brainy cried, interrupting Helga before she could cut in. He held up a pair of velvet blue Doc Martens with fat black brocade laces. "Where did you get them?"

"My cousin Marcia. Sorry, babe. The bitch is a size six."

"Ugh."

Rhonda turned back to Helga.

"You really take the scarecrow farm girl look seriously out there, don't you," she said, her brown eyes flickering up and down, sizing Helga up. Classic Rhonda move. Helga had to chuckle at how it still managed to make her skin prickle with irritation.

"You should really fix your hair, a sixties patterned headscarf would be nice."

"So is this all that you've been up to for the last five years, Rhonda?" Helga said, rolling her eyes. "Condescending to impose your inimitable fashion sense to anyone who walks in? Must be good for business."

"As a matter of fact, it is." Rhonda replied, without missing a beat. "I worked as a stylist for an agency until right before I bought this space a month ago. You wouldn't believe how much people would pay you to tell them what to wear."

"If it was such a cushy job, why'd you leave?"

"Oh, you know. Bloodsucking, social climbing, politics, the works."

"Huh. I figured you'd fit right in that kind of environment."

"I thought so, too. What I really didn't like were all those creative directors who think they're entitled to have their hands on my ass as much as they are to my ideas. So I quit."

"So does this mean you're sending me a consulting bill?"

"Aww, you can't afford me. Besides, friends get the advice for free. Which reminds me," Rhonda rummaged through the bags, tossing scarves and skirts, a flurry of bright colors hiding her from view until she pulled out a dress.

"It's the most Helga-esque dress. Don't you think so, Brian?"

"It so is."

It was a short denim dress, dyed a faded pink.

"You have got to be kidding me, Rhonda."

"I'm totally not. I think the pink suits you in an ironic way, kind of like that look you had in grade school. Think of it as a reprise of your old style."

"You'd say something like that," Helga scoffed. "But style was the last thing on my mind back then. You should know. So no thanks."

"Think of it as a welcome home gift," said Rhonda, going behind the counter and popping the dress in a red paper bag. "I know some people who would kill for rare pink denim dress."

"Sell it to them, why don't you? You'd get a much bigger payoff with the cash and the added customer satisfaction."

"Nope. What would I need the money for? I'm loaded. Besides, I told you, this dress is so you. I can't imagine anyone else wearing it."

"Why do you even have it?"

"Don't ask, darling."

Brainy clambered out of the piles. "Looking at all these clothes I can't own and wear is making me hungry, you guys."

Rhonda handed Helga the bag. "We'll have lunch, then. I know an amazing sandwich shop two blocks away. Their veggie wrap has four kinds of cheese. And Helga, you can tell me what you've been doing to yourself these last five years."

* * *

><p>"So you've been writing fiction? I haven't read any of your stuff." Rhonda plucked a slice of cucumber off her sandwich and popped it into her mouth.<p>

"They're mostly short stories. Printed in literary magazines." Helga bit into her smoked salmon sandwich. "No big deal."

"Still. I don't know anyone else who got published. Did you know about this, Brainy?"

"Rhonda, up until last week you were speculating that she was lying dead in a ditch somewhere. I was as much in the dark as you were." Brainy said. Turning to Helga, he said, "We pretty much never expected you to show up after you disappeared."

"Well, I thought you ran away to L.A. to become an actress." Rhonda said. "You were always so good at it."

Helga heard the sardonic note in her voice. There it was again, in a moment's flicker, the sense of unease that took over all her interactions with her former friends since she arrived.

"What do you mean by that?"

Rhonda kept picking off the vegetables on her sandwich with a toothpick and nibbling at them like hors d'oeuvres.

"Oh, I don't quite know what I mean. You certainly had that... flair for drama way back when."

"Get to the point, Rhonda."

"There's no point. It was just an observation," Rhonda smiled, wiping her hands on her napkin. "You're staying over at Arnold's boarding house, right?"

"So?"

Rhonda sighed. "Maybe we could all have a happy little reunion sometime. Maybe a pool party at my parents' rooftop. For old times' sake and whatnot."

"Rhonda, I hope you're not being sarcastic because I'm all for that plan," said Brainy. "It'll be the perfect time to unveil my electronic installation."

"Is anybody still in town besides you guys?" Helga asked. "I know Phoebe moved to Texas with Gerald a month ago."

"I saw Chocolate Boy in an alleyway on the way here."

"Very funny, Brainy."

"Nadine's waist-deep in the Amazon," Rhonda said, checking her nails. "Sheena's in Portland, Eugene's in New York City, and as far as I know, Curly's in Canada planting trees in British Columbia. He still keeps sending postcards to my parents' house, uck."

"I miss that little fucker," said Brainy, brushing the crumbs off his lap. "And I know Sid and Stinky are doing the hustle up and down California."

"To be honest, I don't feel like sitting around wondering where everyone is. I have to get back to the store to work on the display," Rhonda said, standing up. "But I'll set it up and let you know. You aren't planning on leaving soon, aren't you?"

Helga sighed. "Guess not."

"Goody. Well, work awaits," Rhonda said, walking out the door. "Brainy, didn't you say you were going to help me with the display?"

Brainy threw the sandwich wrappers into the trash and nodded. "Helga, do you want to come along? We have the whole afternoon to kill."

"No, thanks. I feel like walking around the neighbourhood. I'll walk you guys back, though," said Helga, picking up her paper bag that contained her second faded pink dress.

* * *

><p>The afternoon orange sun glowed low and perfect in the sky by the time Helga returned to Sunset Arms. She walked into the kitchen to find Grandma Gertie viciously chopping onions with a cleaver.<p>

"Hyaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

"Gigi, do you need any help? Want me to peel anything?" Helga asked, picking up a carrot and the potato peeler on the counter.

"Oh, Eleanor. Just the gal I wanted to see," Grandma Gertie's voice dropped to conspiratorial whisper. "There's evil afoot in this house. I will need all your powers to vanquish it."

"W-what do you mean?"

"This evil has been lurking around this house for a long time now, girlie," Grandma said, casting a sideways look round the ceilings and the walls. "Its presence makes the hallways echo and the floors creak. It makes the darkness unfriendly. Its power lies in deception that holds sway the susceptible and pure of heart and confuses them to be trapped in the shadows. I'd go defeat it if could, but I'm old and can't climb the stairs anymore."

"Um... Is there anything I could do?" Helga asked. "I could try fixing it."

"There is only one way." Grandma replied. "When the darkness threatens to swallow you, don't be afraid to leave your light on. Remember that."

"Okay," said Helga, more perplexed than ever. "I'll remember. I'm just going to the rooftop for a bit. To, uh, prepare myself."

"Take care, Eleanor. It'll be a hard battle, but I'm counting on you." With a salute, Grandma turned back to her stew.

* * *

><p>The night breeze blew humid and sticky on Helga's skin. The waxing moon had begun to rise. Helga lit a cigarette and leaned against the water tank.<p>

Helga looked across the roof at the glass panels that covered Arnold's room. It shone softly in the moonlight. Helga exhaled. Through the cloud of smoke, the sight of it fills her with an ache for all those clumsy childhood days when she camped outside it or snuck through to avert her disasters. And that short, sweet time five years ago when she freely wandered in and out of that rooftop, carrying with her lethal memories of warm blankets and hands and a stabbing autumn air.

If she could stick to her resolve to what she came here for she'd be all set. Get it over with once and for all: tying up loose ends with this town, this neighbourhood, with Arnold. A silly, half-baked notion, sure, but one that was hard to shake off.

"How do I even begin doing that?" Helga muttered, crushing her cigarette underfoot. She walked towards the skylights. She opened the hatch to climb in.

The dim moonlight spilled on Arnold's bare moving body. A woman was writhing underneath him, face buried in his shoulder and gasping out his name. She opened her eyes and stared straight up at Helga, who dropped the hatch door shut at the sight of Lila Sawyer's face illuminated in the dark.

_  
><strong>Author's Note:<strong>  
>OH MY GOD. I finally updated this fic after more than a year! I figured since I have most of this mess planned I might as well carry on with it, you know? Lately I've been excited for Hey Arnold again, so I guess that's part of it, too.<p>

Special thanks and hellos to all the readers who commented even when I wasn't updating.


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